


Reluctant Compromise

by Hino



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Mainly about Tom and Tord, not really any romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-06-01 18:50:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6531820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hino/pseuds/Hino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edd and Matt's kidnapping makes Tom's heart stop.<br/>Paul and Patryk being the culprits makes Tom's blood run cold.</p>
<p>Tord helping him get them back makes Tom's head ache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Challenger Approaches

The soft sound of Matt’s television leaked through the thin apartment wall, making Tom groan. It'd been three months since they'd moved into the apartments together, and he'd already grown weary. The walls were thinner than at the old house, and more often than not, Tom found himself hearing Matt’s loud daily ritual of praising the several framed pictures of himself that adorned the walls. It led to thinned patience, and slowly growing hatred for the ginger neighbour.

 

“I really thought we were past this,” Tom groaned as he pulled the blankets closer, curling into the bed. Blearily, he looked over to the small clock on the bedside table, mood souring as the red numbers cheerily blinked 1:30. “Matt, turn that off!”

 

“But it's just getting to the good part!” came the muffled whine. 

Tom gave the wall a gentle hit, and the sound dulled a moment after. “Thank you Matt.”

 

“Yeah yeah,” he answered. The sound of Matt getting comfortable in his bed again made Tom sigh, but he did his best to ignore it, pillow clamped down over his ears. Dimmed screams came from the movie and Matt’s louder one followed a moment after, making Tom groan. He waited for the other to quieten down, but the sound only seemed to intensify along with the film. The clatter of furniture was the final straw, and Tom threw back the sheets, raising a fist, ready to slam on the thin plaster separating them and personally stop Matt screaming.  
“Who are you? Why are you in my apartment?” Came a concerned shout from the other side, prompting Tom to pause.

“Matt? Is the ghost back again?” He asked. “Because Eduardo is the next floor down. They’ve got the wrong room.”

“Let me go!” Matt shouted, punctuated by the sound of shattering glass. “Put me down!”

“Matt?” Tom called. “Matt, what’s going on?” He wanted to move, desperately trying to will himself but he just couldn’t. The honest terror in Matt’s voice had him pinned. It wasn’t the loud screams of some over the top monster, or the shrill screech that often followed him breaking a mirror or picture frame. It was something he didn’t know how to stop, which meant that Tom probably didn’t know how either.

“Not the face!” It was shouted in panic and answered with a loud thump, a sound that finally managed to spur Tom into action. He threw himself off the bed, tired body stumbling along as it tried to keep up with its own thoughts. Barely, Tom remembered to grab the sniper rifle by the sofa, holding it tight in both hands. They’d been through enough already, Matt and Edd included, and he was tired. Tired of adventures. 

 

Yanking the door open, Tom threw himself into the hallway, tripping and hitting the wall opposite his room. The sound made the two men turn, and Tom’s eyes widened. One of the men turned to him with a look of surprise, Matt hanging limply from his shoulder with a fresh black eye. The other stood with a deadpan expression, hanging onto Edd. His wrists and ankles were bound, and as the man turned to leave, Tom watched Edd try and scream through the duct tape.

“Wait!” He pushed himself off the wall, sending the kidnappers running. With some effort, Tom raised the gun, just managing to line it up with one of the assailants when they turned the corner, thundering down the staircase. He cursed, willing his still tired body to give chase. Opening the door to the stairs, the click of a lightswitch echoed, plunging the stairwell into darkness. It didn’t deter him however, pushing himself down cold concrete with a speed he hadn’t used in forever. His heart thundered in his chest as he rounded the last set of stairs and pushed open the door, entering the main foyer. Parked under the streetlight right outside the doors, was a red car, and beside it, Matt and Edd. 

Wearily, he raised the gun again, managing to fire a shot at the group. It narrowly missed the deadpan attacker, who tossed Edd roughly in the car while Tom struggled to reload, adrenaline making his hands shaky. By the time he’d gotten another bullet in, the car roared to life, startling him. He lost the angle, and rushing outside to try and line up one last shot, he caught sight of the number plate.

NØR5K1.  
Tord.

 

Tom almost threw the rifle on the ground in rage, grip right and arms shaking. He ground his teeth and took a sharp breath, walking back towards the building. There was no point in rushing. He didn’t have a car or a means to follow them. Right now he needed to be calm, to think. Getting mad wouldn’t fix anything, nor would it get Matt and Edd back in one piece.  
Entering the stairwell, he flicked on the lights and trudged upstairs, calmer now. The cold steps bit into his feet and he hissed at it, trying not to linger too long in the chill. The air cut through his thin pajamas, consisting of a pair of blue boxers and old grey shirt with more than enough stains from meals eaten while half awake. Stepping onto his floor, Tom stopped to take in the sight. 

Everything looked the same, except the three open doors on the right hand side of the complex. Light seeped out from Matt’s room, while the other two sat in murky darkness. Letting the adrenaline finally seep away, he dragged himself down the hall, thoughts whirling now that he let himself have a moment. Padding down towards his room, Tom stopped by Edd’s room, leaning against the doorframe and sighing. He’d only heard Matt screaming. He hadn’t heard a peep out of Edd.

Lazily, he moved to flick on the light, groping against the wall for the switch a few times before managing to switch it on. The amber light blanketed the room and Tom blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness. Everything seemed untouched, from the couch to the various trinkets stacked against the walls. The only thing out of place was-  
Was...

“Tord.”  
The man turned as Tom spoke, looking at him with a hard gaze, unwilling to back down.

“Tom,” he greeted in return.

All the surprise and exhaustion vanished in that moment as Tom clenched his teeth, raising his rifle and training it on Tord’s head in a single moment.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He asked, subtly looking the other over for threats. Tord merely turned towards him, letting Tom check him out. His red hoodie was burnt and frayed, stained with a few splotches of blood that had resisted a good scrub. On his back was a small, black backpack, bulging with whatever he'd forced in there. The arm strap hung tightly to his left arm, while sitting lopsided on his right, prompting Tom to do a double take. He moved to speak, but lifting his gaze to meet Tord’s face, he noticed the discoloured scar trailing up the right side of his face and an eyepatch, standing out against his pale skin. His words were breathless and exhausted. “What happened to you?”

Tord laughed dryly. “Being shot by a harpoon gun and blowing up in a giant robot does things to people, Tom.”

As Tord spoke, Tom looked at the limb. It was bandaged up, missing below the elbow. The wrappings were loose and poorly done, and he suspected that Tord had done it himself.

“Did you cut it off?” Tom asked softly.

“Paul helped. He prepared the equipment, and the rag,” came Tord’s firm answer, refusing to seem weak. “Patryk helped with the aftercare. I made the cut.”

Tom dwelled on the information for a moment, before jolting back to reality, the events of before returning in a wave. “Your car. Matt and Edd were taken away in your car, so why are you here?”

Tord stiffened. “My car?” He asked. “Who took them? Who was driving?” He stepped forward and Tom adjusted the grip on his rifle, but it did nothing to stop Tord’s advance. “What did they look like, Tom?”

Hearing the honest surprise and concern in Tord’s voice made Tom’s thoughts stumble, but he picked them back up. “There were two of them. The one who had Matt had dark brown hair, bandages over his chest, looked easily phased. The other looked like he’d done it before, large eyebrows, missing an eye.”

“Patryk and Paul,” Tord scowled. “So I was right.”

“Huh?” Tom looked at him with confusion, lowering his gun as he watched Tord. He seemed angry, fist clenched and face unreadable. Finally, he took a breath, and looked over to Tom with a firm gaze. “What?”

“Which one is your room?” He asked. “Because there’s no point going after them now. You’re exhausted.”

“That’s a lie,” was the quick answer from Tom, ignoring how his legs were shaking now as the newfound adrenaline seeped out, leaving him properly wrecked. “We need to go now.”

 

Tord seemed to mull the decision over, swinging the bag off his shoulder and onto the floor. Awkwardly, he unzipped it and looked inside, checking over the contents. Tom leant forward, catching sight of money, clothes, several magazines filled with bullets, gun parts, knives, a basic medical kit, and a robot arm. “Pack a bag,” he demanded. “And be quick.”  
Tom nodded and raced down the hall to his room, grabbing anything he could get his hands on. Dumping the items on his bed, he grabbed a duffel bag and began to shove everything in roughly. Clothes were forced in, followed by ammo for his rifle, a handgun, two bottles of smirnoff, and a group photo of himself, Matt, and Edd. He paused to look at it, trying to remember the moment it was taken.

“Are you done?” Tord asked, standing in the doorway. Tom looked up in surprise before glaring at him for coming into his home uninvited. He would have made some sarcastic remark, but the look on the other’s face stopped him from bringing it up. They didn’t have time to waste. Giving a nod, he slung the bag over his chest and grabbed his gun, holding it close. 

 

Without a word, Tord led the way down the stairs and Tom followed, noticing in that moment that he was still in his pajamas, and still barefooted.  
As they stepped out of the foyer into the cool night, Tom shivered, feeling the full extent of the cooling weather. Tord seemed unfazed by the chill, looking around the street with a calculating gaze.  
“How are we going to find them?” Tom managed to chatter out, shifting on the spot in hopes of keeping his feet from freezing. “They’ve got a good five, ten minutes on us.”

“They’re going to the airport,” Tord answered flatly as he moved towards the neighbouring building, having seen the jeep parked in the driveway. Tom watched as he approached it, withdrawing a small device from his hoodie. He stuck it to the door for a moment before pulling it off and shoving it back into the pocket. The door opened silently and Tord rolled the driver’s seat backwards, kneeling down underneath the wheel. Slightly confused, Tom stepped forward, standing on tiptoes to get a look at what the Norwegian was doing. His presence only made Tord grumble. “Are you just going to stand there?”

“Until you tell me what you’re doing.” Tom crossed his arms and Tord sighed, not bothering to take his gaze off the tangled mess of wires he’d pulled out. 

“I’m hotwiring a car.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have something in your technical arsenal that’ll turn the car on?”

“Do you want me to use it now, or when we actually need it?” Tord asked. Tom shut his mouth, moving around to the passenger side door and opening it. He tossed his stuff down and climbed in, making sure to buckle up tight. Part of him didn’t trust Tord’s driving ability, despite not having seen it. Then again, with it being Tord, he really didn’t need to see it to have doubts. From his seat, Tom could see what was happening in the driver’s seat. He watched curiously as Tord tried to connect two wires together with only one arm, and the scowl on his face was a sign of how well it was going.

“Do you-”

“No,” Tord cut in, ending Tom’s sentence early, which only made him grumble. It took a few moments, but soon the car began to hum, and Tord pulled the door shut. “The airport is at least two hours out,” he guessed. “I can get us there in one.”

Tom scoffed and looked at him. “Without getting us pulled over?”

Tord threw his bag at him. “Yes,” he growled.

“But can you drive stick?”

“If I can build a robot, I can drive stick, now shut up and sleep.” His order was firm as he put the car in reverse, easing out into the street. Tom placed the bag at his feet and began to fiddle with the seat controls, leaning it backwards and trying to get comfortable. 

 

As they began to roll down the street, Tom raised his voice. “Why were you in Edd’s apartment?”  
Tord spared him a glance before looking back to the road. “You weren’t going to reveal that you’d built another robot under the place, were you?”

“I was there to apologize,” Tord answered sharply. “I was going to leave town, and thought that for what it’s worth, I would apologize. When I got there, nobody was home, and then you arrived.” His one-handed grip on the wheel tightened slightly. “I had nothing to do with his disappearance. Patryk and Paul left my squad.”  
Tom watched him for a moment, moving to speak but stopping as Tord looked at him. “Your aim was off, by the way.”

“Pardon?” Tom looked at him with confusion, tensing up as they turned a sharp corner. Tord loosened his grip on the wheel, using the palm of his hand to turn them around, as the wheel snapped back into place, he dropped his hand to the gearstick and switched, grip firm on the wheel again before the car could even think of swerving off the street.

“You pointed a gun at me,” Tord gently reminded him. “In the apartment. You were aiming for my head, but you were off slightly. You would have missed. Singed my hair,” he explained. “And I would not have forgiven you.”

“For firing at you, or burning your hair?” Came Tom’s question.

“Both,” was the firm answer.

With that, silence fell across them, and Tom pulled his knees close to his chest, thinking. Tord spared him a glance, frowning. “You aren’t wearing pants.”

Tom looked down at his bare legs and yelped, pulling his shirt down as far as it could go in order to cover himself. “We were pressed for time!”

“I wanted to see if you’d notice,” Tord laughed. “It would be fun to see you questioned in the airport.” A smile settled on his face and for a moment, Tom didn’t see him as intimidating. “Did you bring some spare pants and shoes?”

“I-” he stopped to think. “I don’t have any shoes.”

Tord sighed, turning onto a long, straight road. With some strange, practiced ease, he let go of the wheel and flicked on the cruise control before reached over for the bag. Tom screamed, but Tord ignored it as he tugged at the straps, finding it wedged in tightly beside Tom’s. “I think there’s an extra pair in here,” he mumbled, finally getting it free after a moment. With it in his arms, Tord placed both feet on the wheel and fiddled with the seat controls, pushing it as far back as he could. Awkwardly, he began to rummage through the bag, using his stump to keep it steady while his good arm was shoved inside. He pushed past the weapons easily, pausing at the robotic arm for a moment before forcing his way down to the bottom, pulling out a pair of shoes. “Will these fit?”

Tom looked at him with panic. “If I take them, will you look at the road?!” He asked with fear. Tord gave a nod and Tom snatched the shoes out of his hand, pointing to the road. Rolling his eyes, he tossed the bag into the passenger foot space and set his feet down, moving the seat forward again so he could take the wheel. Tom grumbled and began rifling through his own bag for pants, slipping them on. The shoes followed a moment after, and he was surprised to find they were a perfect fit.

“Now sleep,” Tord said, attention on the road. “You’re going to need it.”  
Tom didn’t argue, settling down into the comfortable seat and closing his eyes. “Dream of something nice, too,” he added, “Because it’ll be the last nice thing you’ll see for a long while.”


	2. Airport Wait Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some airport shopping, perfect for when the tensions are high.

He dreamed of their old house, bright walls covered with portraits of his friends. Edd sat on the couch, holding a can of cola while Matt sat beside him, knees inside his hoodie and attention on the television. His dream self approached and wordlessly, the two greeted him, prompting him to sit down. Tom settled into the couch and turned his attention to the screen, finding himself drawn in by the episode of Professor Why.  
There was a sense of familiarity to it, some deja-vu that he couldn’t place. He thought about it while Matt whined that the show was boring. Edd laughed and tossed his empty can at the bin beside the tv cabinet. Tom found himself watching, surprised as the can rolled around the rim of the bin twice before dropping in. The cheer that resounded afterwards was almost deafening, and finally, he placed the strange feeling in his chest.  
It was the first day it had been just the three of them in the house.

 

The sound of Tom’s sharp breath cut through the silence in the car. He sat bolt upright, chest heaving with his deep breaths. They weren’t on the road anymore. Instead, they were slowly cruising down what seemed to be the thin paths of a car park. Tom turned to the driver’s seat, meeting Tord’s wide-eyed gaze and white-knuckled grip on the wheel. “What?”

“Nothing.” It was a short, sharp answer from Tord as he turned his attention back to the rows of cars, looking desperately for a gap. Tom quietly accepted the answer, only moving to speak again when he noticed a spot for them to park that was close to the elevators.

With a press of the pedals, the car’s gentle rumble ceased, and Tord reached over for his bag.

“Wait.”

“Hm?” Tord grunted as he pulled it into his lap, turning to the passenger’s seat.

Tom tapped his face.

“What?” Was Tord’s grumbled answer.

“Your face.”

“What about my face?”

“Well...”

“Out with it!”

“Your eye,” Tom finally managed.  
Tord flinched at the words, body tensing up. He lifted his gaze up to the rearview mirror and stared at the hole in his face. It was a reminder, a constant throwback to bad choices, stupid ideas, lost friendships, and to the man sitting beside him, who’d been the one to shoot him out of the sky.

He forced a laugh. “I wonder if security will recognize me,” he said, gently touching the empty socket. He stuck a finger in and Tom recoiled.

“That’s gross.”

“Sure is,” Tord answered with a grin. He wiped his hand on his pants and opened the car door, letting in the cool morning air. “It’s three now,” he said. “Got caught in traffic. Next plane leaves for Norway at seven.”

“We have time to shop,” Tom remarked with feigned enthusiasm, expression falling flat after.

This time, Tord gave an honest laugh. “We can get you some shoes.”

“And a bag to cover your head,” came Tom’s quick answer. 

Tord recoiled with a hiss. “You wound me, Thomas. I think just an eyepatch would do.”  
Tom rolled his eyes and picked up his bag, getting out of the car. The door’s slam echoed through the parking complex, almost deafening in the night’s silence. It hammered home the severity of the situation. He was at an airport, with a man he hated with most of his soul, because his old comrades had gone rogue and kidnapped his old roommates.

The slam of Tord’s door snapped him from the thoughts. He turned to see the man hooking his arms through the backpack straps, staring at the other cars.  
“Something wrong?” Tom asked.

“Just worried.”

“About?”

“Us.”

He moved towards the elevators and Tom followed, slightly irritated at the lack of elaboration. Tord’s body swayed from side to side, and it wasn’t until Tom looked down that he noticed the Norwegian had a limp.  
“Staring is rude,” Tord spat, not bothering to turn around and look at Tom. He shifted his weight, trying to mask the slight wobble in his stride, and Tom felt bad.

_“I guess it’s not easy for him either,”_ he thought to himself.

 

The elevator ride to the ground floor was quick, and soon they were inside the brightly lit building. They winced in unison at the sudden lights, trying to let their eyes adjust.  
“So,” Tom began, “Flight at seven? Nothing earlier?”  
There was a shake of the head for a reply as Tord led them towards the check-in desk, currently tended to by a woman who seemed half asleep.

“Wait,” Tom hissed. Tord looked back at him. “Eye.”

“Oh.” He quickly smoothed some of his hair in front of the gaping hole, managing to mask it just enough to not be recognizable. With that, he moved towards the dozing woman.

Tom sighed. “Here we go.”

“Excuse me,” Tord said politely as he stopped at the desk, waiting as the lady slowly woke up enough to register human speech. Tom stood beside him, shoving the last part of his rifle into his bag. He’d almost forgotten about it and now he stood there shifting from side to side uneasily in hopes that nobody had seen it.

Finally gathering her wits, the lady began to speak. “Good morning,” she began in a polite but exhausted voice, “How many I help you?”

“We’d like two tickets to Oslo, Norway,” he said, flashing her a smile. “On the earliest possible flight.”  
She gave a nod and began to work on the computer, checking through listings and airlines. Tord shot her a few cheesy lines and she laughed while Tom wandered away.

“Stupid flirt,” he mumbled, approaching a stand filled with newspapers. He picked one up and flicked through it, skimming the headlines. It was halfway through an article on the influx of cola purchases that he noticed the portrait of Tord on the opposite page. It was in full colour, the exact same image that had been on his wanted poster, only with the bounty raised to £2,000,000. Below his poster were two smaller ones, for the men Tom recognized as Paul and Patryk, each priced at £1,500,000. Feeling nervous, he tore out the page, making sure nobody was watching him, before folding it up and returning to Tord.

“Thank you!” Tord called cheerfully, grinning at the lady who seemed to be blushing. “Oh, Tom! We have seats for the flight at seven. We’re in first class, too! I hope you don’t mind that I used your bank account to pay for it?”

“That’s fine but-” He paused, looking at Tord blankly for a moment. “You used my bank account?”

“I may have snuck into the database while you were sleeping and taken your details down-”

“While you were driving?”

“I’m good at multitasking!”

“You stole money from me while I was sleeping, and you were driving with your feet?!”

“I’m very good at multitasking!”

Tom sighed, trailing his hands down his face. “Could you at least tell me how much it cost?”

“£800.”

“Are you kidding?” He asked. Tord shook his head. “Well then, I guess I’m going to recoup my losses with this!”

Before Tord could react, the newspaper article was shoved in his face, leaving him staring at the serious expression of Red Leader. It was a hard gaze, unflinching, strong. Nothing like he was now. His gaze trailed to the increased bounty, making him take a sharp breath.

“Put that away!” Tord hissed as he slapped the poster out of his face. Behind it was Tom’s harsh stare.

“You have some explaining to do,” he began. “Your bounty went up, and now they're after both of the men working under you which means either you've been doing more work here, or what happened before was bad enough to warrant a price hike.”  
Tom folded the paper up and shoved it in his trouser pocket. “So talk.”

Tord swallowed. “We'll discuss this later,” he said quietly. “I'll tell you everything I can.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

Tom sighed. “Alright.”

 

With the paper away, they turned to look at the metal detectors, separating them from the rest of the airport. Tom took a few steps towards them before stopping, backing up to stand beside Tord.

“We have a problem.”

“I know.”

“We have guns.”

“I know.”

“They’re going to catch us.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Tord softly commented, eyes still trained on the group of people standing at the security checkpoint. “We just need to wait.”  
Tom looked at him with confusion but obeyed, standing beside Tord calmly. There was a serious expression on the man’s face as he scanned the area, seemingly searching for a particular person. Whoever it was though, Tom couldn’t dream of guessing.

 

It took a good fifteen minutes before Tord took a step forward. His pace was quick, and Tom almost tripped over himself in his attempts to catch up. He was heading straight for a young man in a waistcoat, with short blonde hair. Black glasses framed his blue eyes and overall, added to the sophisticated air he carried.

Tord stopped before him and gave a curtsey. _“Bonjour Monsieur, quelle sorte de vacances préfères-tu?”_

Tom looked at him with confusion, but the officer merely laughed. “I prefer to visit Austria,” he said, taking the bags from Tom and Tord. “Where are you two headed?”

“Norway,” Tord replied, emptying his pockets into the small tray that would be put through the scanner. Tom watched as tiny boxes and small trinkets were set down, all marked with some tiny engraving. One of them he recognized as a couch.  
Once he’d emptied his pockets, Tord stepped through the scanner. It made no sound and nervously, Tom followed behind, bracing himself for the sound.

“Norway sounds lovely,” the officer said as he slid the bags through the scanners. “I hope you won’t be too cold.”

“Not at all,” came Tord’s reply, coupled with a laugh. “It’s my home, so I’m used to the climate.”

Tom heaved a sigh of relief at the lack of sound from both the detector and the scanner. Approaching the bags, he slipped his on and grabbed Tord’s while the man restuffed his pockets. He was whispering to the officer, and drew back from the conversation with a deep frown.  
“Au revoir,” Tord softly called as he began to talk deeper into the airport. Tom was on his heels immediately, carrying both bags. The look on the Norwegian’s face made him uneasy, and he quietly followed him along.

It took some time before he could dare to speak. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Tord answered.

“What is it?”

“I knew him.”

“And?”

“He knew me.”

“And?”

“And, there are people here who might know me.”

“And?”

“Thomas.” Tord stopped walking and looked at him. “If they shoot me, they will shoot you too.”

“Oh.”

“Oh indeed.”

Their conversation was over, and Tord started walking again, approaching the toilets. He headed for the handicapped stall, opening the door and stepping in.

“Are you coming?”

Tom looked at him strangely. “To watch you pee?”

Tord glared and pointed to his bandaged stump, which was looking extremely gross.

“Oh.”

 

Stepping into the bathroom, Tord made sure to lock it, ensuring there would be no interruption.

“I hope you’re not easily disgusted,” he said as he began to unwind the bandage.

Tom shook his head. “I would think not,” was his calm answer. Tord nodded and continued undressing his wound. As he went, the blood soaked bandages tumbled to the floor, revealing the drenched, disgusting hoodie sleeve that had been bunched up to stop the bleeding. “I think it’s stuck.”

“Do I have to...” Tom trailed off but with the way Tord nodded, he knew it wouldn’t go well. He set Tord’s bag down and began to dig through it, carefully unpacking everything. Tord stiffened as the robot hand was set aside but Tom made no mention on it, instead coming out with a roll of gauze bandages. “For your mouth.”

“Thank you,” Tord said, making Tom pause. It was out of place for Tord to thank him.  
He didn't like it.  
Stepping forward, Tord spoke again. “Wait just a second.” He held up a finger and dove into his hoodie pocket, pulling out a small flask of whisky. It was drained in seconds, and he threw the empty container into the open bag.  
Tom took a moment to give him a look before setting the roll between the man’s teeth. Taking a shaky breath, the Brit took hold of the sleeve.

“Ready?”

“Hmmrmph.”

“Alright,” he sighed, choppy and uneven. Gripping the sleeve tight, he waited a moment, mentally preparing himself before giving it a rough tug. He felt the resistance of stuck material, but as it gave way, Tord’s muffled screams filled his ears.  
Tom barely had enough time to catch the man before he hit the ground, body twitching in pain. He could already see him bleeding through the sleeve, and it sent him into overdrive.

“It’s gonna be alright Tord,” Tom soothed as he tried to force the hoodie off the Norwegian’s writhing form. There was some attempt at cooperation from Tord, but the pain wracking his system limited a lot of what he could do. With a considerable amount of effort, the hoodie was pulled off, leaving Tord to writhe on the floor in his stained off-white shirt. Tom gripped his hair tightly, pulling at it in panic as his mind went blank.

Tord was bleeding.  
He was bleeding so goddamn much.

His breathing began to pick up, and he felt himself begin to hyperventilate, watching as blood began to slowly drip and pool on the tiled ground. All he could see in his mind was it growing larger, and Tord’s body becoming pale and cold on the bathroom floor. He’d stop moving and-

 

“Tom!”

Tord was glaring at him, mouth covered in drool. The roll of gauze was sitting on the ground, thoroughly soaked with spit. “Listen to me,” he forced out through grit teeth, pausing in his speech to pant and breathe. “Pick up the bandage,” he ordered.

“Right...” Tom breathed, grabbing the wet roll. He didn’t even notice how disgusting it was, focusing entirely on Tord’s broken explanation.

“In the bag, there’s a medical kit. Get out the gauze pads.” Despite being injured, his commands held weight. Tom couldn’t find it in himself to disobey. 

“Perhaps that’s why he became Red Leader,” he thought.

“Put the pads on the bleeding bits. Stack it up. It doesn’t matter. Once we get to Norway-” Pain lanced through him and he paused, panting. “-I’ll pay someone to do this properly.”  
Tom gave an understanding nod and began to layer on the thin material, growing concerned as it soaked up the blood in an instant. Tord said nothing though, silently encouraging him to continue. He kept going until he ran out of cloth. By then, the gauze pieces took almost an entire minute before they had fully absorbed what they could.

“Now wrap it up,” Tord said. That was easier for Tom to do. Holding the end of the bandage against the stump, he began to wrap, making sure to cover it all evenly. When he ran out, Tord shakily handed him another roll, letting him go. With the second bandage applied, Tom took a step back and fell to the floor, landing on his behind with a solid “oof” and a groan.

“Did... did I get it?” Tom asked, wiping some sweat off his forehead and looking to Tord. The man was busy digging through the medicine kit for painkillers.

“Lend me some Smirnoff, would you?” He asked, pointing to Tom’s bag. The Brit nodded and pulled out a bottle, tossing it to Tord. He uncapped it and took a long, hard drink from it before shoving a handful of pills into his mouth, washing it down with more vodka.

“Is that safe?” 

Tom pointed at the half empty bottle of smirnoff that had been set aside. Tord shrugged, finding a cigar in his pocket and lighting it up. The smoke surrounded him like a barrier and his body slumped, taking in the mix of nicotine, painkillers, and alcohol.

“You think that was bad, you should have seen the amputation,” Tord laughed, trying to ride the wave of adrenaline and pain that was keeping him awake. Soon it’d be replaced with medicine, but he needed to get to that point first. “You should clean up. You’ve got blood everywhere.”

Standing up, Tom looked in the mirror, seeing bloodied fingerprints streaked across his head. His hands were stained red too, and flecks of blood dotted his wrists. To him, it was horrifying.

“I’ve had more blood on me,” Tord cut in, getting to his feet and stumbling towards the hand towels. “It’s worse when it’s not yours,” he said. “Don’t think about it too much.”

 

“Did you... did you kill anyone?” Tom asked, turning on the tap and dumping a considerable amount of soap on his hands. “Besides... Besides Jon.” It was hard to say, but he forced the words out. Tord knelt beside the puddle of blood on the floor and began to dab at it.

“I did,” he answered coldly.

“Were they bad?”

“No.”

“Were they good?”

“No.”

Tom paused, letting the water run over his hands and swirl down the drain, leaving pink stains on the porcelain. “They weren’t good or bad?”

Tord tossed the paper towel into the toilet, standing and moving over to flush it away. “Sometimes, there is no good or bad.”

The loud roar of water filled the room as the toilet bowl refilled. Tord grabbed more paper and Tom moved to dry his hands. There was no more conversation between them. While Tord cleaned blood off any surface he could, Tom set on repacking the bags. Once again he saw the robotic arm in Tord’s bag. The urge to ask rose up, but seeing the expression of loss and agony on Tord’s face silenced him immediately. It was packed away, buried under some clothes and forgotten about for the moment.

“I’m done,” the Norwegian said, rinsing his hand off. Tom nodded and offered him his bag. “What about my hoodie?”

Tom bent over to grab it, looking at the dirty, soaked material. It honestly needed a wash now he got a better look at it. “When did you last clean this?”

Tord blushed. “When did you shoot me out of the sky?”

The expression on Tom’s face was of immense disgust, and the rational part of him said to burn the hoodie right now and bleach his memories, but instead he folded it up and placed it in his bag. “I’ll wash it in Norway.”

“Where?” Tord asked.

“Somewhere.” A smile appeared on Tom’s face. “Toxic waste puddle!”

Tord scowled. “Somewhere hygenic.”

“They say that urine is sterile.”

The anger on the Norwegian’s face was indescribable, and Tom only grinned.

 

Tom left the toilet first, moving over to a nearby newsagency to idly check some books while Tord looked around. Feeling like he was in the clear, he stepped out, moving to stand beside the other.

“Anything we should read?” He asked, looking over the cover of some of the latest bestsellers. 

“We could read ‘How to build a giant robot for dummies’ during the flight,” Tom said with a chipper grin, holding up a robotics book. Tord rolled his eye and shoved the book away. “What, not in the mood for that anymore?”

“I’m going to shoot you,” Tord threatened as he moved further into the bookstore. About halfway through, the store transformed into a pharmacy, cold and sterile against the warmth of the books. Tom trailed lazily behind, watching as the Norwegian struggled to find an medical eyepatch. He wasted a good ten minutes before sighing and grabbing a few rolls of bandages, along with padding. Tom offered to help again, but Tord brushed him off, retreating to the toilets to wrap himself up.

Tom would later find out that Tord had used his bank account again.

He came out from the handicapped room looking fairly alright, considering he’d bandaged himself up with one hand. The white of the cloth stood out, but they were wrapped neatly enough that people wouldn’t suspect anything more than some standard eye injury.

“If anyone asks, I had an allergic reaction to contact lenses,” Tord said.

“Sure,” Tom agreed.

They each grabbed one book for the other to read on the plane before heading around the rest of the airport in search of stores. Tord scowled at his copy of “How to make and keep friends” while Tom tried to ignore the hardcover book titled “Guns and Bears; How to survive an attack”.

“Shoes,” Tord lazily called, pointing to a store. Tom raced forward, eyes set on a pair of checkered sneakers while Tord started to flip through the book in attempts to entertain himself. He didn’t have to wait long however, as the Brit returned wearing a new, flashy pair of shoes.

“Good, right?” Tom asked.

“If you say so.”

 

They continued shopping as they waited for their flight. Snacks were shoved in their bags, while little help books and trinkets were carried around aimlessly.

“This is coming out of my bank account, right?” Tom said as he looked to the Norwegian beside him who was entertaining himself with the colourful keychains he’d bought.

“Yes.”

“Ass.” He crossed his arms in irritation, as best he could with things in them, at least. “Hey, how will we know where in Norway they are?”

Tord paused. “Right. There were six smaller bases we used, plus the main base.” He set the stuff he was holding on the floor and dug into his pocket. “So they could be anywhere.”

Tom bent down to add his belongings to the pile at Tord’s feet and moved to stand, when a heavy weight was set on his back. “Excuse me?”  
There was no answer as Tord shuffled around, resulting in Tom getting a front row seat to Tord’s crotch.

“Wonderful,” he dryly commented. “I always wondered what communist dicks looked like.”

“You better not look,” came the grumbled reply, followed by what sounded like a keyboard being tapped. Tom tried to look up, but Tord forced him back down. “You’ll make it slide off.”

“Make what slide off?” Tom asked. “Just what have you got on me?”

“Makeshift laptop running on barebones power, old radiation, and stolen wifi.”

Tom blinked. “So... am I going to get radiation poisoning from this?”

Tord grinned.  
“Not if I use it for less than ten minutes.”


	3. Locations and Past Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few questions, answered.

The laptop had been on for nine minutes and Tom was beginning to sweat. Tord had said ten minutes for radiation poisoning.  
He was joking, right?

“Tord?” he asked nervously, only to be shushed. He frowned, returning his gaze to Tord’s crotch. The man’s shirt rode up slightly, and Tom noticed the scars trailing across his skin. They looked deep and old, standing out against him. “That must have hurt.”

“Hm?” Tord wasn't paying attention, focused instead on the camera feeds displaying on his screen. “I don't get it. Every base looks untouched. Nothing’s been set off.”  
He growled and threw his hand up in anger. “Where the hell are they?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “In their own secret base?”

Tord froze. “On the hill.”

“The hill?” Tom asked. The laptop slammed shut and he stood, watching as it compacted back into a small cube, roughly shoved in Tord’s pocket. “What hill?”

“There was a hill that we found,” Tord said, words rushed as he picked up his things again. “And it was in the middle of nowhere. Off all the maps, all the radars.” 

Tom bent down to help, managing to fit everything neatly in his grasp. “Shouldn’t it be a small place then? Why worry?”

Tord looked at him like he’d shot a newborn. “Why worry? Why worry?! That is the most expensive and secretive base in Norway! I have been tortured for information regarding the location.” The man’s face screwed up in a blend of anger and sadness. “And then they go and steal it out from under me. I... After everything...”

It was uncomfortable to offer a kind gesture to the man, but Tom patted him on the shoulder and mumbled a soft “There there” in hopes it would be enough.

“Oh piss off Thomas!” Tord swatted his hand away with his stump arm, wincing as it made contact with Tom but keeping silent. “I don’t need your bloody pity.”  
He pushed past the man and headed towards the gate for their flight, leaving Tom to stand alone.

Quietly, he watched Tord come to a stop near a row of chairs. It was out of earshot, definitely, but still within his sights. Even in a bad mood, Tord knew better than to get them separated, it seemed. His reaction made Tom think, though. Tord wasn’t a man to get unsettled easily. Even back at the apartment, he’d seemed to be on edge.  
“Maybe those men are important...” Tom mumbled to himself before sighing and beginning the walk to his gate. Best not to leave an on-edge wanted criminal alone.

 

Tord said nothing as Tom sat beside him. Tom didn’t raise his voice to speak either. As much as he liked to torment the Norwegian man, right now it seemed like doing that wouldn’t get the sharp, bitter response it usually earned. Instead, he unzipped his bag and began to place the assorted things they’d bought inside, trying to wedge them between layers of clothing, while also concealing the gun parts he’d hastily shoved in there.

“I trusted them.”

Tom paused, looking up to see Tord with his chin resting on his knees, both arms wrapped around his legs to keep them in place. He didn’t respond, continuing to repack his bag.

“I mean, they were my Second and Third in Command. Everything I did went through them, and everything they thought went through me. At least, that’s how it was meant to be.” Tord spoke quietly, more for himself, but Tom still permitted himself to listen. He reached for the other bag and took the trinkets Tord had set beside him before starting to pack again.

“They sound important.”

“They’ve taken more than enough bullets for me,” the Norsk man answered softly. “And I’ve taken some for them too. We were the perfect trio.” Tord paused, laughing. “Like you, Matt, and Edd.”

It took a moment for Tom to muster a response. “They missed you,” he finally replied, speaking softly and with the slightest hint of bitterness. “Edd did at least. Matt didn’t remember you, but he kept stopping outside your room when I was moving in. Said he was looking for something.”

Tord sighed, letting a smile curl on his lips. “He always did seem to like me more than you guys.”

“Give Matt some actual attention and he’s yours.” Tom stood and stretched, trying to get the cramp out of his back from being a makeshift desk. “Listen, I’m not entirely sure what happened in those eight years, and I’m not going to ask.” He turned to face Tord, caught off guard by the look of surprise and innocence on the Norwegian’s face. “But I know this is hard for you. I may hate your guts, and wish nothing more than to erase your existence from my life, but I’ll help you out. At least until we get Edd and Matt home safely.”

He extended a hand towards Tord who stared at it with confusion. Tom waited, hand awkwardly outstretched for what felt like hours. “Okay-”

His hand was taken tightly by Tord, making him jump slightly. “Thank you.”

“Stop saying that,” Tom grumbled, snatching his hand away and wiping it on his hoodie. He sat back down, and Tord sat up straight, setting his feet back onto the ground.

“Fine.” Tord sighed, grabbing his bag and holding it in his lap. He clung to it for a while, pouting like a child who’d been scolded. “But...”

Tom sighed. “I know.”

 

They sat in an awkward but comfortable silence until it was time to board. Tord stood without a word, putting his bag on his back and stretching. Tom was still in his chair, napping peacefully, arms crossed. It crossed Tord’s mind for a moment to just leave Tom there. It would have been easy.

The part of him that still lived in Durdam Lane told him not to.

Instead, he kicked Tom’s foot, finding a moment’s joy in the way the man flailed, snapping to attention. “Time to board.”

“Right...” Tom mumbled, getting his bearings. He stood and grabbed his stuff before shuffling towards the line of passengers, with Tord following close behind. Sleep clung to his mind, and it seemed like Tord noticed, stepping forward when it came to checking tickets and directing Tom to his seat. “Are you helping me?”

“Only because you’ll annoy everyone otherwise,” Tord bit back, leading them towards the back of the plane. Tord sat in the window, while Tom found himself stuck in the middle seat. The space next to him was empty however, and he found it a deep relief.

Removing his bag and putting it under the seat in front of him, Tom settled down into the chair, fiddling with the seatbelt. Tord’s elbow bumped him, and he let it go, but the action began to repeat, soon coupled with a few kicks to the leg. It cut through Tom’s patience like a hot knife through butter, and he turned to glare at the Norwegian. “Would you cut it out?”

His sharp tone made Tord jump, but he masked the surprise with irritation before Tom could question him on it. “No,” he answered instead, elbowing the Brit once more to make a point, before kicking his bag under the chair and getting comfortable against the side of the plane, looking out onto the tarmac.

“Taking the window seat,” Tom softly growled as he crossed his arms. “I wanted the window seat.”

“I wanted to keep my arm. We don’t all get what we want,” came the uncaring, casual answer.

It honestly caught Tom off guard, and he scowled at how upfront Tord was about it. “Whatever,” he grumbled, looking away from him as the flight attendants came out to give the safety brief. Their information was important, but Tom only half listened, thoughts elsewhere. After this, they’d be in Norway, one step closer to bringing Edd and Matt home, and one step closer to putting this bastard out of his life.

 

The plane, which had been slowly rolling towards the runway, began to whir and softly shake, powering up. “Please fasten your seatbelts and make sure your meal trays are in the upright position,” came the cheery voice from the pilot as the flight attendants moved to take their seats. Tom glanced over to Tord, noticing his undone seatbelt. 

“Are you going to...” Tom trailed, staring at Tord. He was curled up tight, already deep in sleep. “Hey...”  
His soft call did nothing to wake him, and he frowned, mulling over the decision. The whirring of the engine began to intensify, and as the force of the plane taking off began to push Tom back in his seat, he made the decision.

He leant over and quickly did up Tord’s belt.

The man didn’t so much as move, still curled up in his tight ball, but now safely belted in. A content sigh escaped Tom, feeling some strange relief at knowing Tord was safe. As much as he hated him....

There was this tiny part that still cared for his old housemate.

God, caring about Tord? Tom slapped his forehead in anger. He did not care about that man, not after everything that had happened. But even after all that, Tord had come back to apologize. Now, he was helping track down his rogue men. He was putting himself in danger as a wanted criminal, just to bring Edd and Matt home.

Maybe it wasn’t wrong to care just a little.  
A tiny bit.  
_Yeah,_ Tom thought to himself, _Caring a little isn’t that bad._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter chapter. The next will be longer, just the plot is starting to pick up.


	4. Gathering Information

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter to show Edd's side of things, and to let you know I'm not dead, just unmotivated. Terribly unmotivated.

The world came back to Edd slowly, as each of his senses awoke and tried to figure out what on earth they were meant to be doing.

Touch was the first thing to come to mind. He could feel the cold concrete floor seeping through his pajamas and into his skin, burning with the chill. Both his ankles and wrists were bound, and when he wiggled his fingers a little, he found himself brushing against something else. 

Next came sound. There was his calm, even breathing that filled his ears, and the distant sounds of machinery. Something beeped, soft and repetitive, just edging on being annoying. Brushing his fingers against the strange thing behind his back made it groan painfully, and his mind began to process the information.

That was Matt.

 

The next two things to come back were smell and taste, and coupled with the realization that Matt was most likely cuffed as well, made Edd uneasy. There was blood in the air. The smell was so intense that he had to open his mouth to breathe, but then it only made the taste of copper settle on his tongue. It was disgusting, and Edd coughed.

“Edd?” Matt softly asked, trying to be quiet. It was unusual to hear the man so reserved and gentle with his speech. “Edd, is that you?”

“Matt, are you alright?”  
Edd rolled over as best he could, biting his lip as he rolled over his bound hands, coming to face the ginger’s back. “Where are we?”

“I can’t see,” came the answer, leading Edd to pause. There was something on his face, and now that he’d stopped to think about it, he noticed that it was a blindfold. “I think they tied me up.” 

Edd paused. “They taped my mouth earlier but...”

“But?” Matt asked. He wiggled his legs, and found that his ankles were untied, allowing him to sit up. “It’s cold.”

“I know,” Edd answered. He moved to speak again, but stopped as the sound of footsteps began to rang out. The soft thump of dress shoes cut through the air like it was nothing, and the brunette looked up to try and catch sight of the owner. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Paul,” came the straight answer. Edd stiffened, and Matt tried to look around, not knowing that he was facing the wrong way entirely. “I hear you two used to be close with Red Leader, no?”

Edd raised an eyebrow, wriggling on the floor as he tried to get comfortable. “Red Leader? I’ve never heard of anyone called that,” he answered. Paul frowned, stepping forward and grabbing him by the collar of his pajama shirt, heaving him up. Edd gasped in surprise, and then in pain as the clothing dug into him. “I mean it!”

Paul let him drop, suppressing a laugh as Edd hit the concrete with a grunt. He took a few steps back, turning away from the captives to speak. “Hey Patryk, what was Red Leader’s name again?”

Fighting the pain, Edd tried to look towards the other person. They stood next to a chair covered in chains, holding what appeared to be hedge clippers. “His name was Tord, darling,” Patryk called back, reaching towards a small metal table and retrieving a cloth. He wiped at the clipper’s blades, and Edd felt his breath catch in his throat.

“Tord, that was his name. Do you know a Tord?” Paul asked, kneeling down to be closer to Edd. “You see, Tord was a good friend of ours, but he’s run off. Can’t do much without him, or what he knows. We’ve tried, but all his passwords seem to be about his old life. Could you help us? I’m sure you know his birthday or something.”

All parts of Edd screamed for him to run, or break out, to say nothing at all. They were going to get information out of them, and kill them. That’s how it worked.  
“I don’t know anything,” he answered slowly, locking eyes with Paul. “I can’t help you.”

“What a shame,” Paul sighed. “But maybe he can.”

 

Matt’s scream brought Edd’s thoughts to a screeching halt. He turned, watching as Paul hauled the man across the floor by the back of his shirt. Matt was flailing, trying to dig his heels into the concrete and stop. The blindfold wasn’t doing him any favours either, only serving to heighten the fear. “Edd! Edd, what’s happening!”

“Matt!” Edd tried to reach for him, but Patryk merely rushed forward to deliver a kick to the face. It knocked him down and disoriented him enough to let Paul get away. Matt was lifted with ease and set down on the chair, giving him a moment of peace before his hands were being tied to it. “Matt, are you alright?”

“He is,” Patryk answered as he undid the ginger’s blindfold. “And he’ll continue to be okay, if he answers our questions.”  
He watched as Matt blinked, trying to shield his eyes from the bright light hanging above the chair. It wasn’t very successful given the lack of free hands, but he still tried. “So, Matt...”

He looked up at his captors with wide eyes. “What do you want with us?”

“When was Tord born?” Paul asked, setting a hand on Matt’s shoulder gently, as if he wasn’t about to torture the boy for information. “Surely you’ve celebrated a birthday with him. He told you his age, right?”

Furiously, Matt shook his head. “I-I don’t know anything about him. He came to our house and-” He took a moment to try and sort out his thoughts. “He blew up the house and killed our neighbour and then-”

 

A loud slap echoed in the base, making Edd cringe. Matt sat, stunned by the blow. “Let’s try again. You lived with Tord for six or so years, no? When was his birthday?”

“I don’t know!” Matt shouted back, earning him a punch in the face. He took it without complaint, spitting blood onto the floor as he regained his train of thought. “I said, I don’t know!”

Paul frowned and crossed his arms. “Patty, I think we’re going to need the sledgehammer.”

 

Patryk moved with calculated steps, grabbing the sledgehammer and holding it in one hand like it was nothing. The head of it was stained with blood and other pieces of viscera that hadn’t been cleaned properly. If the clippers had made Edd uncomfortable, this made him outright ill. Matt couldn’t take his eyes away from it, fully understanding the implications of the tool in Patryk’s hand. He began to shake, struggling against his bonds. He kicked his legs a few times but it only managed to tilt the chair, which Paul quickly fixed. “I’m being honest, I don’t know anything! Please, believe me!”

“I mean, I know you’re a bit absent-minded, but I don’t think you’d forget something like that. Red Leader did seem upset that he’d hit you.” Patryk set the hammer on the floor and used the handle as a support, leaning against it. “Seems like you two were friends.”  
Paul waited calmly for Matt to answer again, but the ginger only trembled. He sighed, gesturing for Patryk to step closer, sledgehammer in his grip and ready for use.

“Wait!”

Three sets of eyes turned towards Edd, who’d managed to sit up. His body shook but he forced the words out, making sure to speak calmly and evenly. “Matt doesn’t know. Before Tord left all those years ago, he left us all a present. Matt got a memory eraser gun and, seeing that it’s Matt, he accidentally used it on himself. Tom stole it afterwards, and Tord was long gone before we could think to ask for help. Matt doesn’t know anything. I promise.”  
He stopped shaking as he finished, but his eyes watered, still fearful for Matt. Said man looked back at Edd with confusion, trying to put the information he’d just received into the blanks in his memory. It lined up too well, and his entire body slumped at the realization, head hanging low.

Patryk, sensing the mood, tossed the hammer aside and knelt before Matt. “I’m very sorry,” he apologized, placing a hand to Matt’s cheek. “Sometimes people lie in their interrogations. I hope you’ll forgive us.”  
Matt said nothing, not even speaking up as Paul untied him from the chair and carried him back over to where Edd was. “We’ll have to blindfold you again though, to make sure you don’t go running amuck.” Patryk smiled as he placed the cloth back over Matt’s eyes. There would have been resistance, but Matt didn’t want to risk more pain. “That of course, just leaves you.”

Edd noticed Patryk’s gaze on him and tried to back up, only to find Paul standing behind him. He heaved the man onto his shoulder and carried him to the chair, dropping him unceremoniously. A whine left Edd’s mouth as Paul tied him up, this time binding his ankles to the chair too. “So then, Tord’s birthday. Know the date?”

“Like I’d tell you,” Edd managed to bite, feeling the last bits of rebellion swell up inside him.

“Pity,” Paul answered, clicking his fingers. 

 

Patryk stepped forward with the clippers.


	5. Turbulence

The flight was relatively calm, once they’d gotten up. Tord didn’t budge as they ascended, but Tom sure did, clinging onto the armrests and trying to calm himself. The last time he’d gone flying, it was in the car on the way to the North Pole. Edd had driven them there, before they came to crash and land on a plane. It was rocky as they went up, but as the plane smoothed out and stopped climbing, Tom removed his death grip on the chair and loosened up.

As the seatbelt sign turned off, Tom focused on the small television embedded in the seat before him. It was fancy, and he found himself skimming through it. He checked their flight paths, then looked at the weather, quickly read the news, and then picked a movie. It wouldn’t be a long flight, but it’d make it go faster. Now he had a moment of peace, he stopped to think about Edd and Matt. Where were they? Were they hurt? Were they alive? From what he’d gathered, Tord’s men had no benefits to killing them, so maybe they’d be fine. But what if they weren’t.  
It all began to whirl in his head, scenarios going around over and over, drowning him in the sensation of helplessness. If he’d just been a better shot, a more attentive person, they’d be fine. Hell, he even wished Matt was okay. That meant something was seriously wrong.

The sound of a trolley startled Tom out of his daze, and he looked up to see a young woman smiling at him. “Would you like breakfast?” she asked politely.

“Please. One for him, too,” he answered. The woman withdrew two small bowls of cereal and handed them over, along with some milk cartons and orange juice. Tom thanked her and pulled down his meal tray, setting the food on it. With that settled, he turned his attention to Tord, who was still asleep. “Hey, hey wake up, you Communist bastard,” Tom softly teased, pushing Tord’s shoulder gently.

It all happened far too quickly, but soon Tom felt the cold barrel of a gun touch his cheek. He stiffened, holding his breath while Tord seethed, startled and confused. They remained that way for a few seconds until Tord remembered where he was. The gun was holstered, and Tom sighed in relief, sinking into his seat. “Sorry.”

“Do you threaten everyone who disturbs your beauty sleep?” Tom asked, pulling down Tord’s meal tray and setting his portion on it. “Here I am, trying to be nice to you-”

“Thanks,” came Tord’s hasty reply, followed by him tearing into the meal. He ate like it was the first meal he’d had in days. Tom watched him with a strange curiosity but knowing him, it probably was the first meal he’d had in a long while. He didn’t try to interrupt, turning to his own breakfast and tucking in.

 

Tord was finished by the time Tom was opening the complimentary orange juice. He paid him no mind though, trying to finish his meal while the Norwegian squirmed next to him, eager to do something.  
“Just relax,” Tom grumbled, pouring the liquid into a little cup. “We won’t get there any faster with you twitching.”

There was only an annoyed huff in return as Tord leant against the window, watching the world pass by below them. A thick ocean of clouds sat beneath them, appearing to be as endless as the sky before them. It was honestly soothing to look at, and he felt himself dozing off again. There was just something about the way the clouds stuck together, only parting when the other plane rose up-

Other plane.

Tord sat up straight, wide awake. He could only stare, watching as the new arrival rose above the cloudline. It kept a reasonable distance, but it was matching their pace, and not intending to leave. “Tom?” he began, reaching out for the man and grabbing his arm blindly.

“Hm?” Tom replied, mouth full of juice. He turned and looked out the window, just managing to swallow the drink before he realized what was going on. Tord’s grip on his arm was tight, and Tom felt his jaw go slack, shock making its way into his body. There was a considerable distance between them, but Tom could still see something happening on the other plane. “Is their door open?”

His words made Tord freeze, chilled to the bone. The door was open, and something was being aimed at them, and all Tord could do was scream “brace!”

 

It all went too fast.

There was Tord’s scream, and the passengers turned to look at him, or at least try and figure out who had spoken. Only Tom responded, assuming the crash position that he’d heard in the safety demonstration earlier. Tord didn’t, pressing himself into the back of the chair and trying not to panic. Following a split second later was a loud bang, the sound of metal tearing, people screaming, and the rapid depressurization of the plane, threatening to rip them from their seats.

“Thomas!” came Tord’s voice, almost inaudible over the rushing air. “Thomas, we need to go!”

Tom snapped from his frightened daze to see Tord grabbing his backpack. He tried to put it on, making sure he was still buckled into his chair. Tom followed suit, helping the other get sorted before grabbing his own bag. With their gear together, Tord undid his seatbelt, gripping the Brit’s arm tightly.

_“Are you serious?”_ Tom asked with his eyes, stunned by the Norwegian’s actions, but he found himself complying, undoing his belt and clinging to Tord. The torrent of air pulling them towards the gaping hole in the plane was hard to fight against, and Tom felt his feet slip more than once.

“We have to jump!” Tord shouted over the wind as they edged closer.

“What!?” Tom roared in reply. “Jump?” There was utter shock and refusal in his voice and he looked away, gaze accidentally landing on the passengers. They were clinging to eachother, some with oxygen masks, while others had already passed out. “We can’t jump!”

Tord used the stump of his arm to make Tom face him, biting his lip at the pain. “If we jump now, we might actually save these people. If we stay, they’ll shoot again.”

As if to make a point, the other plane seemed to speed up, weapons loaded and pointed at them, ready to fire on a moment’s notice. Tom took another look around the cabin, watching the passengers cower and try to find peace in what was happening. People had been pulled out of the plane by the first shot. Another one might kill even more innocents.  
The sight of them just strengthened his resolve, and with a deep breath, he broke out of Tord’s grip and hoisted the man into his arms.

There was something that Tord tried to say, but it was swept into the wind as Tom jumped, sending them plummeting towards the world below.

 

To say it was cold falling from the plane was a severe understatement. The air cut through Tom’s hoodie, and it pummeled Tord, who only had his shirt for protection. Their jeans meant their legs fared slightly better, but not well enough.

_“Tom!”_ Tord screamed, voice almost entirely lost over the wind. The Brit snapped to attention, just managing to grab hold of Tord’s arms before he lost hold of the man entirely. Now they were heading towards their inevitable death but with a better hold on eachother. Tom’s grip on Tord’s right arm was painful, but the Norwegian didn’t notice, flooded with adrenaline.

_“Parachute?”_ Tom mouthed.

Tord shook his head. _“No.”_

Tom grit his teeth. Great. Just great. All those little cubes of tech and no parachute. Anger welled up and Tom began to curse, eyes watering as he let it all out. He screamed about Edd and Matt’s abduction, his trauma, the fears his friends now had, his aching bank account, how stupid Tord’s face was, just whatever came to mind. They were plummeting to their death, so what better time could he pick?

His words were lost though, Tord unable to hear him over the deafening roar of the wind, but he understood. The emotion was easily conveyed, and had Tord been able to hear him, he would have launched into an apology and explanation. Instead, he waited while Tom shouted into the whirling air, watching as the red laser sight rested on the man’s forehead.

It clicked far too slowly for Tord.

He tried to lean them away, but the dot had been on Tom’s head far too long. Tord didn’t hear the gun fire, but he watched as the bullet moved slightly, affected by the air. It hit Tom in the shoulder, and Tord tried to pull him closer. The follow-up shot came just a moment later, lower this time to try and compensate for their rapid descent, only to hit Tord in his right shoulder. The pain made him scream, and coupled with the agony he was already bearing from his injuries earlier, caused his mind to short out.

_“Tord?”_ Tom tried to say, noticing the man’s grip on him falling slack. The pain had his mind wandering, but he managed to look at Tord, body limp and bleeding. It caused the panic to set in, and Tom pulled the other into his arms, holding onto him as tight as he could as they fell head first towards the ground, which had made incredible headway in coming to greet them.

Tom watched as the details below slowly became more refined, growing sharper as they fell. His breathing quickened, and he felt everything intensify as his body tensed. Something welled in his chest, fighting to get out.

 

He screamed, and the people on the slowly descending plane heard him.

**Author's Note:**

> Sporadic updates ahoy! I'm writing like a million other things at the moment, so sorry.  
> Hit me up at hino-has-fiction.tumblr.com for more writing or hino-of-the-dawn.tumblr.com for super sick shitposting


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